The Italian's Final Redemption (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  JACKIE ASHENDEN writes dark, emotional stories, with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr Jax, two kids and two rats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their gutsy heroines she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband. To keep up to date with Jackie’s new releases and other news sign up to her newsletter at jackieashenden.com.

  Also by Jackie Ashenden

  Crowned at the Desert King’s Command

  The Spaniard’s Wedding Revenge

  Shocking Italian Heirs miniseries

  Demanding His Hidden Heir

  Claiming His One-Night Child

  The Royal House of Axios miniseries

  Promoted to His Princess

  The Most Powerful of Kings

  Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

  The Italian’s Final Redemption

  Jackie Ashenden

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  ISBN: 978-1-474-09872-4

  THE ITALIAN’S FINAL REDEMPTION

  © 2020 Jackie Ashenden

  Published in Great Britain 2020

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

  By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

  ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  Note to Readers

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  To JA. For true leadership.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Booklist

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note to Readers

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  Extract

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  LUCY ARMSTRONG HAD planned her own kidnapping meticulously.

  Something simple, that wouldn’t cause a fuss, and that would ultimately allow her to get away from her controlling father once and for all.

  It wouldn’t be easy. She was a valuable commodity to Michael Armstrong, and not for being his daughter, no, that was the very least of it. A tutor her father had hired for her had discovered she was a genius with numbers and had understood money from an early age, and had passed that discovery on to her father. He’d soon found a use for her, making sure she laundered all that ill-gotten money, and he would definitely not let her go without a fight. He guarded her assiduously and jealously, the same way he’d guarded her mother.

  However, Lucy only needed an hour’s physical freedom, long enough for her to implement stage two of her three-stage plan.

  Stage two being to throw herself on the mercy of her father’s enemy.

  Stage three to request that he kidnap her and hide her for the short amount of time it would take to ensure that she disappeared without a trace so Michael would never find her again.

  It wasn’t the best plan she could come up with—she didn’t like relying on other people—but her mother’s death could not be in vain. Lucy had made a promise to her mother before she’d died, that she wouldn’t let herself be kept a prisoner the way her mother had been. That she would get away from Michael, no matter what the cost. And of the few other scenarios she’d run, this one was most likely to keep her out of her father’s clutches for ever.

  Or so she hoped. She’d allowed for all kinds of variables, and could predict most things with surety, but she couldn’t account for everything.

  The main variable being him.

  Vincenzo de Santi. Her father’s enemy number one.

  She’d done her research. The de Santis were an old and infamous Italian crime family for whom her father had once worked—at least until the matriarch had been imprisoned and her son, Vincenzo, took over. Then his crusade against the big crime families of Europe began.

  One by one Vincenzo had taken them down and turned them in, including his own mother, it was reputed. The de Santi business empire—once a hotbed of white-collar crime—had been cleaned out, all sources of corruption and illegal activity removed. Now it was the very model of a business that excelled. Legally.

  Vincenzo de Santi had been ruthless in his quest to drag his family back over to the right side of the law, and with other families in his sights he’d made a lot of enemies. Including her father, who hated him and had sworn to take him down.

  Which made him both the perfect target and the perfect refuge.

  Lucy peered up at the old, graceful ivy-covered building opposite the bus stop she was currently sitting in.

  She’d managed to get hold of de Santi’s schedule, and his visit to London to check on several of his family’s businesses was timely, not to mention useful—for her plan to work she had to talk to him directly and not be dismissed by flunkeys. Right now he was checking on one of his family’s auction houses and she’d decided this was the perfect place to throw herself on his mercy. Far less security than the big skyscraper near the river and it was in a quieter area of the city.

  Still, she didn’t have a lot of time. The security detail that followed her wherever she went had no doubt already figured out that she hadn’t gone to powder her nose after all and were tearing up the cafe she’d insisted they stop at trying
to find her.

  And find her they would, she had no illusions about that.

  Which meant she needed to get to stage two of her plan, and quickly.

  Keeping her head down, Lucy hurried across the road to the de Santi auction house and pushed through the ornate double doors.

  It was cool inside, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor as she walked towards the reception desk. A nearby waiting area was furnished with richly upholstered couches, but there was no one currently waiting. There were pictures on the walls, sculptures on the tables and various other precious items displayed in cases. Silence permeated the place. The kind of silence that only the astonishingly rich and important could buy.

  Lucy ignored the art the way she ignored most things, keeping her attention on what was in front of her, since what was in front of her was always the most important thing, and approached the large and obviously antique reception desk.

  A beautifully dressed young man sat behind it, looking intently at a paper-thin computer screen, and he glanced up as she approached, his expression pleasant and professional. ‘Can I help you, miss?’

  Lucy gripped the strap of her handbag tightly, her heart beating very fast. ‘I need to speak to Mr de Santi immediately, please.’

  The man’s pleasant expression didn’t change. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  This part of her plan was always going to be difficult.

  All she had was her name, and even though most people didn’t know it, they surely knew of her existence. Or at least, Vincenzo de Santi would know of her existence.

  ‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘But he’ll want to see me. I’m Lucy Armstrong.’

  That clearly meant nothing to the receptionist. His smile changed to one of polite refusal. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Armstrong, but if you don’t have an appointment I’m afraid you can’t see Mr de Santi. He’s a very busy man.’

  She’d have only twenty minutes now. Twenty minutes and then they’d find her. They’d track her down and then she’d be dragged back to Cornwall. She wouldn’t be allowed back to London again, and then her mother would have died for nothing.

  Ice collected inside her, small tendrils of frost working their way through her veins. She’d become adept at ignoring her emotions, at not seeing anything but the task in front of her, which was generally numbers on a screen, the financial markets she lived and breathed. And for years that had worked very well.

  But with freedom so close and the loss of it approaching fast, the fear she’d been trying to suppress was battering at the box she’d locked it in, trying to get out. It had taken her years to muster the courage to put this plan into motion. It had to work. She wasn’t going to get another chance.

  ‘It’s Armstrong,’ Lucy said, hoping her voice was firm and not shaking. ‘Lucy Armstrong. I’m Michael Armstrong’s daughter.’

  The man’s expression still didn’t change. Her father’s name meant nothing to him.

  She swallowed, the chill inside her deepening. She’d expected de Santi’s gatekeepers to at least know of her father, but it was obvious that wasn’t the case.

  The fear was reaching higher, cold floodwaters threatening to drown her.

  Her mother lying on the floor, blood pooling on the carpet where she’d fallen as she’d grabbed Lucy’s hand.

  ‘Promise me,’ she’d gasped out. ‘Promise me you’ll survive long enough to get away from him. Escape, have a life, be free. I want you to be happy, darling. I don’t want you to end up like me...’

  She’d promised and her mother had died right there in front of her.

  Think.

  Right. She couldn’t freeze, couldn’t let the fear get the better of her. Concentrate on the immediate problem and figure out a solution.

  Although there didn’t seem to be any security around, she wasn’t fooled. De Santi’s security team were legendary, which was part of why she’d chosen him to start with. If she made herself a threat in some way, she’d be instantly grabbed and hustled away somewhere secure.

  Maybe that would be the way to go.

  She was just sorting through that option, when a door behind the reception desk opened and an expensively dressed older man strode out. ‘And I’ll see you in hell, de Santi,’ he flung over his shoulder before storming over to the exit.

  The receptionist was halfway out of his chair, no doubt to soothe the other man’s ruffled feathers, and Lucy saw her chance.

  She was good at remaining unnoticed and, since the door to de Santi’s office stood open, she moved quickly, heading straight to it.

  No one stopped her.

  She went in, her heart beating far too fast for comfort, turning and shutting the door quickly, and locking it for good measure. Then she turned around.

  The atmosphere of luxury and astonishing amounts of money was here in this office too. No marble on the floor this time, but a thick, deep carpet in midnight blue. Dark wood panelled the walls, the lighting of various paintings on it discreet and subtle. Bookcases and display cases, a couch, a low coffee table and a huge oak desk.

  There was a man behind the desk. And he was looking at her.

  He said nothing.

  Lucy’s heart thundered in her ears. The minutes were ticking away and yet somehow she’d lost her voice. As if the man behind the desk had struck her dumb.

  He wore a dark suit that had clearly been made for him, but it wasn’t the suit that Lucy noticed first. It was his height and the broad width of his shoulders, and the hard plane of a very muscular chest. He was strength incarnate, the epitome of power. Although he lounged in the big leather chair as if waiting for a boring meeting to finish, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, he radiated that power like a king, all determination and purpose and casual arrogance.

  She blinked, a feeling of safety filtering through her.

  Yes, she’d been right to come here. If there was anyone on earth who could protect her from her father, it was this man.

  He still didn’t say anything, watching her with eyes so dark they verged on black.

  He wasn’t handsome, though he possessed a powerful and undeniable charisma. It was there in his deeply set eyes, in the hard cast of his jaw, high cheekbones and straight nose. An aristocrat turned crusader. The air of ruthlessness around him made him utterly compelling.

  Are you sure you were right to come here?

  But Lucy shoved the thought away. She couldn’t start second-guessing now.

  This was Vincenzo de Santi himself and it was time to implement the next stage of her plan.

  She forced herself to walk forward to the desk, stopping in front of it just as someone rattled the handle of the office door.

  ‘Mr de Santi!’ a voice called from outside.

  She swallowed and said very quickly, before Security came bursting through that door, ‘Mr de Santi, my name is Lucy Armstrong and I’m here because I need your protection.’

  De Santi ignored the shouting and simply watched her with no more than minor curiosity. And said nothing.

  ‘Mr de Santi!’ The door rattled again. ‘I’m calling Security right now!’

  He stirred, as if only mildly bothered. ‘No need, Raoul,’ he called back, his English lightly accented, his voice deep and cold. ‘Security are already aware.’ He sounded bored.

  Except the black gaze that speared her was not.

  He is dangerous.

  Fear moved through her again and she had to force it down hard. That was the problem with strong men. Strength meant safety but it could also mean danger, as she knew all too well. Especially for her.

  He was a fanatic, the rumours said. He couldn’t be swayed and he couldn’t be bought. He was incorruptible and merciless against his enemies.

  You are his enemy.

  She was. But she had no other choice. She couldn’t go to the authorities, not when she wa
s a criminal herself, and that limited her options. Vincenzo de Santi was the only one who could keep her safe, she had no doubt. Anyway, though he was dangerous, he couldn’t be more dangerous than her father, surely?

  ‘Mr de Santi,’ Lucy said, preparing her speech again, in case he hadn’t heard her the first time, ‘my name is—’

  ‘I know who you are,’ he interrupted in the same bored, calm way.

  ‘Oh.’ She was a little nonplussed. If he knew who she was already, then shouldn’t he be more...interested? Wouldn’t the daughter of his enemy simply walking into his office make him pleased? Certainly he should have been asking her questions. Except he wasn’t. He was simply sitting there, at his leisure, in that big black leather chair. Staring at her.

  It was unnerving.

  Lucy shifted on her feet. She wasn’t used to being stared at the way he was staring at her. As if those dark eyes were X-rays and they could see right through her clothes to her skin and deeper, right through her flesh, down to her bones.

  You’re freezing again. Don’t get distracted, keep your attention on the goal.

  That’s right, she had to concentrate. The minutes were ticking away and she didn’t know what would happen when her father’s men burst in here. They might drag her away and she didn’t want that, at least not before she’d put her proposition to him.

  Steeling herself, Lucy pushed her glasses up her nose and stared right back. ‘If you know who I am then you’ll also know who my father is. I need your protection, Mr de Santi, and I’m willing to pay handsomely for it.’

  ‘I see.’ He didn’t look at all surprised at this, nor one whit less bored. ‘Please explain why I should give you anything at all.’

  But Lucy didn’t have the time to answer questions. She knew what she was bringing to his door in coming here: a war. No more and no less, and he needed to know immediately.

  ‘I’ll explain when you’ve agreed. You probably have ten minutes before my father’s men track me down and come pouring through your door ready to drag me home.’